


The Debt I Owe

by naturalarsonist



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bribery, But only a bit, Consensual Sex, Desperation, Drunk Sex, Emotional Sex, Feelings Realization, Intoxication, M/M, Making Out, Other: See Story Notes, Overstimulation, Porn With Plot, Power Play, Repaying Debt, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Sexual Tension, Shocking I know, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:20:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29791128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naturalarsonist/pseuds/naturalarsonist
Summary: "Please. Let me pay you back.""I don't want your money.""What do you want then?""What do you think? I wantyou."-----John is a simple bartender. He wants to make a living and help people wash away their troubles- Nothing more, nothing less. When the town falls into debt, and his banker sends the Sheriff to get the money back, one debt ends up leading to another... One that is paid in a way other than wealth.Read story notes!
Relationships: John John/Sherman Thompson, Ranboo/Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 42
Kudos: 277





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> THE CHARACTERS IN THIS STORY ARE JUST THAT- CHARACTERS. I do not ship Ranboo and Technoblade in real life AT ALL, just their CHARACTERS, who are much different from who they are in real life. This is all fiction, so treat it as such. Don't bother to send hateful comments because I will just delete them. There aren't the main character tags for a reason, so don't act like you're a saint if you're here to send hate- You had to be looking for this to find it.
> 
> Do not show this to anyone who does not want to see it. This includes SFW accounts, antis, and ESPECIALLY the CC's themselves.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy. This part is just exposition, and the second part (the part with the actual fucking) will be uploaded by the end of the week. 
> 
> Ranboo and Technoblade are referred to as John and Sherman because that is what their characters are named. John is a legal adult but not legally allowed to drink, and Sherman is not as old as he is implied to be in the Tales of the SMP. He is in his late 20s through late 30s, you get to decide. 
> 
> Here we go.

In all senses of the word, John was screwed. 

What made it worse was that none of it was his fault. Well, not entirely at least. 

It wasn't _his_ fault that the banker he’d borrowed money from had a gambling addiction, or that a piglin-hybrid had raided their town of anything remotely of value. It wasn’t _his_ fault that a cannibalistic serial killer had scared away the tourists, or that bandits came frequently to steal what little wealth the town had left. To put it simply, he, and everyone else, had fallen into unimaginable debt with no way to pay it off. 

A soft groan of irritation left his mouth as he absentmindedly dusted off the wooden countertop of his bar. Just before everything had gone to shit, he’d invested every penny he had earned throughout his life into this business. At the absolute worst time possible. All he wanted to do was to make his life mean something, but fate seemed to have other plans. The only speck of luck he had lied in the simple fact that everyone else was far too concerned with their own wealth and debt to give a damn about the fact that he too had no way to pay his off. Percy seemed to be the only one that cared, but until recently, John never bothered to spare a thought towards the banker’s concerns. 

However, not too long ago, Percy’s threats had reached a dangerous point. He used to just snarl out random threats of taking away loans (which wasn’t possible) or attempt to brawl it out (also impossible, Percy looked as though he were built from sticks and string, and most certainly didn’t have enough muscle mass to stand a chance). Recently though, he’d found a new, actually applicable threat that pricked at the young bartender’s nerves every time he sneered out the remark: _“If you don’t pay me back, I’ll bribe the sheriff into throwing you into jail with the cannibal.”_

That, unfortunately, was something John had to worry about. 

If Percy did speak to the Sheriff, he would be forced to search the bar, even if he did have no intent to arrest John. That is where the threat lies. 

You see, John wasn’t exactly of the appropriate age to be selling alcohol. While he was legally an adult, he was not of the legal age to drink, much less own a business centered around such a thing. Therefore, if Percy found out that speck of information, he could get him thrown into jail faster than he could even say the word ‘debt.’ Well, at least he wouldn’t have to worry about said debt or bandits if he got arrested. He would be eaten by the cannibal within a week unless the Sheriff was cruel- er, nice enough to give him a separate cell. He wasn’t exactly opposed to dying off if it meant he’d be free from the constant stresses of running a failing business in a failing town. 

However, he doubted that the Sheriff, Sherman, would care enough to consider Percy’s requests. While he did have an innate weakness to bribery (being a piglin and all- they love gold) his morals were decent enough that John didn’t have to stress too hard about it, unless there was some law he didn’t know about.

Although, he also had to keep in mind that such an idea could be his soft spot for the Sheriff talking. 

They weren’t exactly close, but Sherman did happen to be the person John trusted the most in this hell of a town, and he presumed the feeling was mutual based on the difference in the way the Sheriff acted when they were alone. Always darting around topics and offering help of labor or of monetary value- If John didn’t know any better, he would have guessed that he made him nervous, but the monotone voice and uncaring attitude was predominant in any situation the Sheriff was placed in. 

One time, a couple months ago, Michael had come bursting into the bar with two snakes in his hands and fear in his eyes as he screamed about the inevitable end of the world and how God was going to come and kill them all. Everyone who’d been present, or even heard about it, had either a confused or downright terrified expression by the end of it. Everyone, that is, except Sherman. The hybrid seemed to be immune to all. 

Except John. And that is a big reason why the bartender liked hanging around him so much. Sherman only really smiled when he cracked a joke or told him the alcohol was on the house. He only really seemed to care about what was going on in the world when John was the one relaying the information. 

The bartender smiled absentmindedly as he thought about the Sheriff. They were friends, yes, but that didn’t eradicate the risk of Sherman arresting him. His entire career was built around ethics and the law, and John assumed that not even he would be spared from the reach of those ideals. 

The sound of creaking wood snapped John’s attention back to reality. 

_Speak of the devil._

Walking uncaringly into the bar was Sheriff Sherman, almost characteristically getting annoyed with the squeaky grinding of the gears on the swivel door. 

“You need to fix this.” He mumbled, his voice sounding like coarse gravel. He’d obviously had quite a long day. 

“I would like to, but I don’t got the money.” 

Sherman squeezed past the small opening, letting out a sigh of disdainful relief before sitting down at the bar counter. 

“We should get this over quickly,” He began, but his gaze being locked onto the barrels of alcohol betrayed his true intentions. “Percy’s been complainin’, He’s askin’ me to to search your bar for for anythin’ I can convict you of.” He even offered me a hefty sum- Well, hefty for our town- to arrest you regardless of what I find”

John sighed, placing his cleaning rag down. Hell, he knew this day would come soon, but he didn’t expect it to be this soon. 

“Did you accept the offer?” 

“Course not. Crops would eat you in a heartbeat, and I only got one cell.”

“Shame.”

John moved to open up one of the cabinets- pulling out a clean glass and almost smiling at the way Sherman’s eyes lit up when he began filling it with his favorite brew. 

“So, what did you come here for. Just some alcohol?” The bartender asked. 

Sherman’s gaze fell slightly, and he began to rap his fingers against the wooden countertop. 

“I still gotta do the mandatory search. I don’t wanna do it anymore than you want me to, but…”

John hummed out in agreement, sliding the drink over to Sherman, who accepted it with a grateful nod.

“I’ll do it after a glass or two. You on the job?”

“Was just closing up when you came in.”

“Sorry about that.”

The Sheriff took out a coin, and was about to toss it to John before he cut him off with a, “Don’t worry ‘bout it. It’s on the house.”

Sherman gave a hearty grin, oblivious to the fact that John had partially made it free out of sheer hope that the small gesture would convince him to let him go if he found anything suspicious. He repocketed his coin.

“You always were my favorite. Join me.”

He patted the stool next to him, and John flushed slightly. He wondered how much trouble he would be in if Sherman knew that he was prompting him to do something illegal. He relented nonetheless, and grabbed himself a bottle, but decided to remain on his side of the counter in case something went wrong. It was nice, having someone to drink with. John suspected that was why Sherman liked him so much. At the end of the day, he was always here, waiting to serve him a cold glass of his favorite alcohol and listen to him talk about god knows what. 

Though the small talk was pleasant, and he enjoyed the Sheriff’s company immensely, uncomfortable panic settled in the pit of his stomach as he awaited the inevitable. There was no way he was going to get out of this. 

“So, tell me John.” Sherman began as he took a swig of his drink. John could tell that the alcohol was getting to him. He’d always been a bit of a lightweight- even for a borderline alcoholic. “Do you have a wife back at home? There ain’t any women in this town, but you’re an attractive lad and don’t strike me as the type who wouldn’t be popular with the gals.” 

John almost choked on his drink, but covered it with a low cough as he placed the glass down. 

“No sir. Weren't any women who caught my eye back home.” He neglected to mention that he was both in no way attracted to women, nor looking for a partner back home. All he cared about back then was getting enough money to move away and start his business. He never gained any popularity, not because he was unable to, but because he spent every waking hour working away at various labor-intensive tasks that no one else wanted to do. The payment was low, but, to his previous self, it was worth it. Now, on the other hand, he wished he stayed back home where business wasn’t completely nonexistent. 

“What about you, Sheriff?” He propped up his elbow on the counter and rested his head in his hand. Well, even if there wasn’t any money to be found, at least he had people he cared about. “Any wife back home?”

Sherman’s expression remained unreadable, but his body language betrayed his discomfort and nervousness. John found himself hoping that the answer was no. 

“Mm. First of all, call me Sherman. I trust you and I reckon we’re close enough to use each other’s first names.” The corner of his lips perked up, and John could tell he had to resist pointing out the obvious: that he would address him the same way regardless. Curse his parents for giving him the same first and last name. “Second off, I ain’t interested in women, if you catch my meaning.”

_Oh._

John found himself feeling simultaneously relieved, and something else that he didn’t want to give a name to. That didn’t necessarily mean that the Sheriff was single, and it certainly didn’t mean he was interested. John didn’t think he would entirely mind the former or the latter. 

Before he could speak, Sherman got out of his chair. 

“It’s getting a bit late. I’m gonna conduct the search now before I leave.”

An awkward silence fell between the two as John noticeably tensed. Sure, John was fine with Sherman changing the subject away from his sexuality. What he did care about was that the new subject could most definitely incriminate him. 

The Sheriff began to walk around the bar, opening various pots and barrels, and pretending to be interested when in fact all he wanted to do was leave as soon as possible. John didn’t blame him. The question had been innocent enough, but it seemed that both of their orientations were far different from the norm, and therefore carried the risk of violence or social rejection. Neither of them wanted to have a hate-crime committed against them, but neither wanted to risk confirming the presumption about the other’s sexuality due to the slim chance that they were wrong. There was nothing worse than thinking someone was gay when they actually weren’t. Such a mistake could result in something as extreme as murder. 

However, the tension was only worsened by the pure unadulterated fear that coursed through John’s veins as he watched the sheriff search for any remote sign of illegal activity. And there was something immensely incriminated tucked away in his desk drawer. And Sherman was approaching that desk. 

His breath caught in his throat as the piglin-hybrid began rummaging through the desk, opening each drawer and flipping through the files. 

_Oh, he was so goddamn fucked._

He couldn’t bear to even look, averting his gaze and having to quite literally dig his nails into the counter to prevent himself from taking off running in the nearest direction. He clung on, desperately, to the slim chance that Sherman wouldn’t find the documents. To the tiny bit of hope he had left that he would be safe. 

Cautiously, he looked back. 

Sherman opened up the drawer with the files, and John felt as though his heart had stopped.

 _No._

The sheriff took out some papers. 

_Please, no._

He began to scan them, his expression still monotone, and muscles still tense with nerves. 

_Put them back, please- I’ll do anything._

Sherman froze. The uncomfortable look in his eyes changed to that of shock. 

John averted his gaze once more. The expected disappointment would have been too much for him to handle. He couldn’t speak, merely sitting there as he began to shake as absolute panic overwhelmed him. 

“Um…”

Sherman didn’t seem to know what to say, but John could feel his eyes boring into him. He didn’t look back. 

“John.”

The sound of paper landing on the countertop in front of him made the bartender jump, and he timidly decided to take the risk and make eye contact. 

If Sherman’s expression hadn’t been unreadable before, it certainly was now. His gaze was devoid of any emotion, and his body language seemed almost robotic The incriminating documents were lying face down on the counter, which offered John only a sliver of relief. He suspected that if he’d been forced to stare at his printed age in the face, he would have broken. The papers burned him as is, but the sight of Sherman walking towards the door tormented his soul even more. 

“I didn’t find anything. I’ll let Percy know he’ll hafta find somethin’ else to get you to repay your debt.” 

And then he was gone. 

…

… 

…

_Huh?_

John stood frozen like a deer in the headlights, eyes wide as he stared at the door, hands clenched into fists at his sides, and his muscles tense. 

_Why?_

His mind was racing with questions, but why seemed to be at the top of the list. 

Why did Sherman leave without him? Why was he still standing here? Why wasn’t he being thrown into jail? Why was Sherman letting him continue his business? Why? Why? _Why?_

His body finally gave up on him, and he crumpled to the ground, sliding down the wall and onto the dusty floor, but dusty clothes was the last thing he cared about right now. He let out a shaky breath as he rubbed his temples. 

How was he even supposed to begin evaluating what just happened? Thoughts evaded his grasp when he tried to reach out to them, so he just sat for a moment- the sound of his own labored breathing filling his ears and his heartbeat thrumming in his chest. To say that he was at a loss of words would have been a complete understatement. 

Sherman, for whatever reason, had decided not to arrest him for selling and drinking alcohol whilst still being underaged. He’d instead just left. Whether or not he was planning to abuse the information, John didn’t know. He hoped that the Sheriff would just pretend the entire thing never happened, but he knew such a thing was impossible. The conflicting relief and terror confused him. 

His chest heaved as he let out a sigh, shakily standing up once more. 

Chasing after Sherman wasn’t an option. John had no idea where he’d gone off to, and he didn’t want to push his limits anyways. _Dammit._ Why’d he have to have such a persistent personality? Anyone else would have thanked god for being saved and pretend the account had never happened to preserve themselves. They wouldn’t have wanted to go and piss off the Sheriff. So why, why was John _aching_ to go find Sherman and talk to him? 

It must have been curiosity. An innate urge to find out what he didn’t know- Which in this case, was why he’d been spared. Curiosity killed that cat, yes, but he also knew that satisfaction brought it back. 

As he closed up the bar for the night, John decided. Tomorrow, after he’d thought it all over, he’d go and talk to Sherman regardless of the risks. 

He’d get his answers, give his apology, and see where everything else went. 

He settled on his plan as he turned the last oil lamp off.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got this out as quick as I could. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> PLEASE CHECK THE COMMENTS, I HAVE A POLL

The next day was characterized by almost irradiatingly high levels of heat, and even higher levels of impatience. John felt as if he were going to lose his mind from the second he woke up to the second he closed the bar, anxiety and stress racking at his brain to the point where he could barely even get through his work. 

He opened the front entrance, his deft fingers working the metal chain around the wooden spires as his mind lingered elsewhere. 

The air shimmered on the horizon. The hum of cicadas filled his ears. Heat burned at his skin, and rocks poked through his shoes. 

He was completely and utterly exhausted. And yet, he had never felt so awake. 

He returned inside, and sat on his side of the counter, head propped up by his hand, fingers fiddling with a spare gold coin as he picked up a spare rag and began to clean off the surface. 

The absolute second he could, he was going to go look for Sherman. What he was going to do when he found him was still up for debate. All he knew was that at the very least, he was going to thank him, and probably invite him to the bar for a few free drinks. He felt the need to pay him back, but just as much felt as though he had to know why the Sheriff had decided to let him get away with it. Why he’d let him continue his business. 

He threw the rag into an unused cabinet and sat at his stool, his fingers rapping an old tune on the now-cleaned wood as he attempted to weigh his options. 

He could pay the piglin-hybrid, of course, but that might just make it worse. While he possessed an innate love for gold, he might take it as an insult considering the circumstances. Same goes for offering free drinks.

Then again, anything from this point onwards was a risk. 

And so, the day continued to drag on.

Extremely.

Uncomfortably.

Slow.

To be fair, John only expected he’d have to wait till lunch. Everyone in town came to his bar then for a cold drink and some food, especially on a day like this, but Sherman remained absent. John has been so antsy for his arrival that he stumbled whilst walking to a table and spilt beer on Percy’s shirt. Not that he cared, it was just that now the banker had even more of a reason to hate him. When he asked about Sherman, the banker spat out a snide remark. Something along the lines of “Maybe I’d care to tell you if you didn't poor your fuckin’ drinks on me.” 

John decided it was in his best interest to accept the loss. 

After lunch, business was the same as usual (nonexistent), and none of his usual time-passing activities could fully distract him from the nagging thoughts that plagued his mind as if they were flies. He suffered instead, longingly waiting for the day to end, and his opportunity to shine though. 

He couldn’t think- or he thought too much, with no in-between.

But, just as it did every day, the sun eventually set, and the consuming heat finally began to disperse. Cool air settled in along with the light of the stars and moon, and John was finally blessed with a moment of relaxation. The sweat that pricked at his forehead and the back of his neck cooled, and the dusty smell of hot desert air was replaced with that of welcomed, almost humid wind. 

The bartender stretched as he stood, letting out a satisfied grunt as his shoulder popped with his movements. 

Even now, he couldn’t truly feel at peace. Now, if anything bad were to happen, it would be his fault. No one else’s. 

Before he could go and visit Sherman, he figured, there would be no harm in having a few drinks of his own. It would help clear his mind- allowing his thoughts and questions to flow more freely, and if he got intoxicated enough, he wouldn’t remember if something went wrong. To be fair, he’d rather have no memory of him embarrassing himself and wake up in a cell than deal with the humiliation of stumbling over his words and still getting thrown in anyways. 

He popped the cork off a bottle of Beere, his favorite drink, and could practically feel his muscles relax as the cold liquid ran down his throat. The bitter taste was welcomed as long as it cooled off the remnants of the hot day. He sighed, quickly finishing the bottle before opening a second. 

This had been a relatively good idea. The alcohol’s effects kicked in quickly, and he could feel his mind becoming more hazy. The small pinpoints of fear and apprehension were slowly drowned out by incomprehensible thoughts, and John welcomed the change

However, his moment of relaxation was short-lived. 

The familiar creaking of the entry-gate opening sounded throughout the bar, and John let out a whine as he realized he’d forgotten to close the shop. Fucking dammit. He couldn’t get a single moment away from the world, could he? It always demanded more and more and more until he was drained away of everything he had. 

The rough sound of boots padding across the dusty floor drew his attention away from his irritation, though, and he quickly forced himself into his happy-go-lucky-customer-serving personality as he slurred out a “How can I help ya?” 

Seems that one drink had been more than enough. 

His expression changed to one of slight regret as he looked up to apologize to the customer for being drunk, but as a familiar pair of scarlet and silver eyes met his, his expression switched to that of terror. 

“Ah- Sherman! I- uh, didn’t know you were comin’.” 

Well, there went his chance to be cool about this confrontation. Losing the element of surprise felt like a bigger blow than he thought it would, and he stiffened as his mind struggled to catch up with the situation. Sherman looked equally uncomfortable, chewing absentmindedly on his upper lip as he gave the drunk bartender a sidelong glance. 

“Felt bad about yesterday.”

His explanation was short, and his voice sounded composed and low, still monotone- but John could see through the guise. 

Both to calm his and the other’s nerves, he forced out a smile, standing sharply and almost tripping as he moved over to one of the barrels of mead. 

“Ah- S-Sorry, let me get you a drink.”

Sherman opened his mouth to interject, but decided against it, not to John’s entire surprise. It would have come across as rude under normal circumstances to deny a free drink, but their circumstances were anything but normal. 

John prepared a quick, but heavily alcoholic drink for them both- still thinking it would be better to be drunk if things went south. Sherman gave a nod of thanks and took a drink, and his eyes widened as the smell hit him. The drink was _strong._

“I came to apologize,” The Sheriff began. “I know I probably gave you quite the scare yesterday, and the anxiety’s not good for ya. I was just, well, a bit surprised to say the least, and I wanted to think about it all.”

John looked away, guilt and regret creeping up. 

Okay, alcohol had not been a good idea. He was struggling a bit too hard to keep his emotions in check. 

Sherman noticed, and took a deep breath. 

“I’m not mad at you. I’m not expecting anything back. I know I can trust you to not tell anyone I’m letting you get away, for more than one reason, I- Uh, I guess I just wanted to set things straight.” 

He stopped talking, and awkward tension consumed the both of them once more. 

Oh, John felt _guilty._ He hadn’t stopped to really think about how at risk he was putting Sherman with his actions, much less thought about how he was forcing him to betray his morals. He regretted his decisions immensely, and shook with emotion as he downed another shot of the drink.

It was now or never, right? He had to ask. He had to ask the question that had been bothering him all night and all day. 

“Why?”

He almost whimpered it out. He was… angry? At himself? At Sherman? He didn’t know. He wasn’t entirely sure he would ever know. He wanted to scream out the question, _‘Why? Are you stupid? Why would you risk yourself for me?’_

He took a shaky breath, and clenched his hands into fists as he struggled to stay calm. 

“Why are you riskin’ your job for me? Your reputation? I’ve been- No, I am breaking the law, and you’re the _Sheriff,_ you should- You should _hate_ me- But-” 

He gestured to the beer in Sherman’s hand. 

“You’re downright indulgin’ in it! I lied to you, so why-” 

“Because I care about you.”

 _Oh._

John understood now. He understood in the way his heart ached at that remark, why he was upset. He was mad at himself. He was mad at himself for fucking up so badly, for making such an extreme risk, for lying to the person that cared for _him_ , that _he_ cared about. But even then, he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. 

Sherman had placed his drink down, his eyes cold. Once more, he was unreadable. But the tension that radiated between them had some kind of undertone that John was too terrified to give a name too, because that would make it _real._

“W-What?” He sputtered out. 

_Childish._

He wasn’t even fucking able to not stutter. Alcohol wasn’t an excuse. He felt incredibly self-conscious over every single action he took, and he couldn’t tell if it was the drug talking or not, but he felt as though he could snap at any moment. 

“I care about you, that’s why.” Sherman repeated. 

John’s self-hatred was redirected at the Sheriff. How could he say such a thing so calmly, as if he had no idea of the weight it carried for him- Wait, what weight did it carry? It wasn’t the same for Sherman, was it? He was toying with him. He had to be. 

“Y-You care about me?” 

“Yes.”

His heart thrummed in a way that felt almost forbidden, and he could feel his emotions choking up in his throat as he struggled to understand the situation, to decide what to say, to decide what move to make. His gaze darted around wildly, but Sherman’s remained unreadable. 

“I do, okay? So I’m lettin’ you get away with it regardless of my personal beliefs on whether or not it’s right or wrong-”

He was cut off by the loud slam of a coin-filled bag on the counter. John had looked away, but his eyes were wide, slight tears pricking at the corner of them. He didn’t know what he was doing. Perhaps this was his helpless attempt to get Sherman to leave before he snapped, or perhaps it was a method of paying him back. Although he knew it was the former, he settled on the letter as his form of reasoning. 

“Take it.” He breathed, and his voice cracked.

“What? No-”

“Take it. It’s the least I can do to repay you. I won’t take no as an answer.”

Sherman’s eyes were wide with confusion as he shook his head. 

“Did you not hear what I just said? I don’t mind, I just-”

“Take it and go, Sherman!” 

John dug his nails into the wood in a feeble attempt to ground himself, and his eyes were begging, _pleading_ for the Sheriff to just accept the offer and leave,, but Sherman refused to relent. 

“No. I’m not going to.”

“Please. I need to pay you back somehow.”

The Sheriff was poking a sleeping bear. John couldn’t take this much longer. The tears, anger, and that _something else_ rose in his chest, and he stared wildly at Sherman. 

“Why do you need to pay me back? I want to do this.” 

_Oh, this hurts._

“Because isn’t this what I’m supposed to do?”

 _Stop it. Please. Let me win._

“John, calm down.”

_How can I calm down when you make me react like this? Why?_

“Please. Let me pay you back.” 

_I don’t want to lose you. But I’m going to risk it if you don’t fucking leave._

“I don’t want your money!”

 _Don’t say it._

“Then what do you want?”

 _Don’t._

“What do you think?”

_Sherman, leave._

“I don’t k-”

“I want you.”

_You idiot-_

Before Sherman could realize what he said, before John could even think about the weight of his actions, before he changed his mind, he lurched forward. He bent over the counter, pulling Sherman closer by the collar of his shirt, _and he pressed their lips together like he was dying for it._

 _And the sparks that flew were unlike anything either of them had ever felt._

Sherman’s hands flew into John's hair as their mouths clashed together. The kiss tasted of irritation, violence, and a deeply hidden, almost tragic lust that sprung to the surface as the Sheriff’s tusks dragged over the bartender’s lips, and he wanted _nothing_ more than to feel them sink into his neck as he rightfully claimed him as his. 

So _this_ was what that ‘something else’ was. Whether or not it was just lust and infatuation, he didn’t know. But the only way to find out was to tie the noose and let the rope tighten even further. 

He pushed himself over the countertop and pulled Sherman close, allowing the stronger of the two to take the opportunity of being on the same side to push the bartender onto his back over the counter. He slid between his legs and used the chaos to his utmost advantage- grinding their clothed groins together which earned a gasp of need from the man under him. 

“Oh- Oh-” 

He leaned his head back, legs spreading further as he bucked him into the fleeting touches. The Sheriff’s warm mouth was all over him, pressing wet kisses and bites into the soft skin of his neck and shoulders, and he wanted _more_. He wanted to be _ruined_. He fucking _needed_ it. 

He arched his back up to press their bodies even closer, sliding together like puzzle pieces. Sherman let out a groan at the delicious friction and John took the chance to turn his head towards him and slide his tongue into his mouth. And he _whined_ \- Desperation burning at his insides as the Sheriff reciprocated the action by sucking on the muscle. 

“Fuck.” He gasped, grinding their hips together and _reveling_ in the pleasure. “Please- Please touch me-:” 

Sherman indulged, a soft groan escaping his lips as he pressed his mouth against the bartender’s shoulder, his hands slipping underneath the fabric of his shirt, and damn, the skin-on-skin contact felt so perfect that John couldn’t help but whine out with need. Sherman reluctantly pulled away so he could remove the shirt, and the second the irritating fabric was out of the way, they were back on each other, mouths working together as their hands explored each other’s bodies with a ferocious want. 

John wrapped his legs around the other’s waist for stability, bucking his hips up and allowing their still-clothed cocks to brush together. 

“Ah- More-”

Sherman’s deft fingers worked themselves under the waistband of John’s pants, not hesitating to pull them down as John struggled to return the action by taking off the Sheriff's shirt. His hands found themselves so close, so fucking close to the area John oh-so _desperately_ wanted him to touch, finally having access to _all_ of him. 

His hands were rough and calloused- but John would have been lying if he said he didn’t love feeling their touch on every forbidden place they delved into. 

“I’ve wanted you,” The Sheriff growled. “For so long.”

John could only moan in response as Sherman’s fingers wrapped around his cock. 

“F-Fuck! F-Feels good-” 

He spread his legs even further as Sherman started off with a few harsh movements, and damn, his cock throbbed at the pleasurable feeling. 

“You want to pay me back, right?”

The bartender’s nails dug marks into Sherman's back as he desperately tried to get his clothing off. His head was hanging back, and his eyes half-lidded as he bucked up desperately into Sherman’s hand, only growing impossibly harder with his words. 

“ _Yes._ ” 

“Then don’t pay me back with money.”

He slid off and John let out a whimper of disdain, but it was quickly washed away with his ever-growing need as Sherman _finally_ stripped himself of his clothes, and god, he was _beautiful_. All rugged muscle, tainted with scars that only added to the sheer attractiveness of it all. Sherman’s eyes swirled with hunger as he spoke. 

_“Then pay me with your body.”_

At that moment, any rational thought, any doubts or fears holding them back gave way- and their bodies lurched forward before their minds could tell them to stop. They kissed each other so roughly it hurt and they _loved_ it. 

“Bend over against the counter.” Sherman breathed, and John obeyed without a shred of hesitation. 

The wood was sharp against his skin, but he didn’t care. He wanted it rough. He wanted it hard. 

“Don’t prep me.” 

He rubbed his thighs together in a vain attempt to chase pleasure where there was none to be found. 

“Please. I can take it.”

He looked over his shoulder to see Sherman’s jaw drop, but he his mouth quickly and shook his head. 

“No. I don’t want to hurt you.”

But John could _tell_. 

He wanted it too. So, he gazed into Sherman’s scarlet eyes, admiring the contrast in vibrant and dull colors, and the scar that took half his sight- admiring the scruff and shadows that masculinized his features, the small lines etched into his skin, the absolute _need_ conveyed in his expression. He took it all in as he made direct eye contact, and whispered out:

_“I want you to hurt me. So break me.”_

Sherman’s last barriers of restraint were shattered with that simple phrase, and he gave in fully.

He pressed his cock against John’s hole, pushing forward and wrenching a moan from the man underneath him.

It _hurt_. God, it hurt. And yet, he couldn’t give less of a damn about the pain that ravaged his lower half. If anything, it made him feel _better_. It made him feel _good_ , and he wanted more of it. 

“Move- Fuckin’ move-” He gasped out, and Sherman graciously indulged in his desires- rolling his hips before pulling out and slamming back in. It felt so amazing John could scarcely take it. 

He bottomed out completely, moaning out with a desperate need and pushing his hips back in a feeble attempt to get the Sheriff even deeper inside of him. He pushed in to the hilt, thrusting inside and throwing his head back as a few quieter moans and growls of his own rumbled out from deep within his throat. 

“Sh-Sherman!- _Fuck_ \- Don’t you dare stop-”

The bartender gasped as the piglin-hybrid dug his nails into his hips and pulled him ever closer, pleasure spiking through him as his cock brushed against that perfect spot that made his vision rip to white. 

“There!- Right there-” 

Sensitive and shaking, John attempted to turn around to try and kiss him, but at that moment the Sheriff shifted to find a better angle and hit his prostate straight on- wrenching an actual _scream_ of pleasure from the younger, pure euphoria clouding his mind as his hand shot instinctively to his own cock. 

“You’re so tight.” Sherman breathed, and John could all but whimper in response. 

“So pretty, so perfect. It feels good, doesn’t it?” 

“ _Yes-_ ” 

He was practically addicted to the feeling of Sherman sliding in and out of him, and every time he quickened his pace he could feel the knot in his stomach tighten and he knew he couldn’t last all that much longer. 

“I’m close-”

“Hang on for me, baby.”

John moaned _loudly_ at the combination of the pet name and the pleasure ravaging his lower half. He wanted to feel Sherman everywhere, all over in, all inside of him, and he spread his legs even wider as the Sheriff’s hand wrapped around his cock- Stroking him, pleasing him as he neared his high, but not yet allowing him to get the release he so desperately craved. 

“Please- Please- Please- _Please_ -” 

Sherman growled out as the pressure built in his lower half, keeping up the pace as he thrusted ruthlessly forward. 

“Ngh- Just a little longer.”

“I can’t take it-”

“Fuck- Cum for me-”

He continued to thrust into John’s prostate and the pleasure built up and up and up until it finally reached its tipping point, and he _screamed_ at the sheer intensity of it all. 

The wave of pleasure crashed into him and his vision went white as his orgasm coursed through him- The touch, the feeling, the ecstasy making feel as if he was going to pass out, as if he was in heaven. He’d never cum so hard in his _life_ and Sherman _still wasn’t relenting._ The pure, unbridled euphoria was only intensified by the overstimulation.

John forced Sherman closer towards him and crashed their lips together as the Sheriff fucked him through the waves of his orgasm, still not yet at his peak. 

“Inside-” John whimpered. “Cum inside- Please-” 

This was more than just repayment. This was more than just lust. 

Sherman’s movements grew unsteady, still brushing up against his prostate, which sent jolts of overwhelming pleasure throughout him, and his body spasmed out in a desperate attempt to get away from the stimulation. 

“Ngh- I- Can’t-”

“Just a little longer, baby- I’m so- Agh!- So close, you feel so fuckin’ good-” 

John threw his head back, whimpers turning to moans as he felt Sherman cum deep inside of him, and he felt so deliciously _full._

Fuck, he whished he’d decided to get Sherman drunk a long time ago. 

The Sheriff pulled out, earning another soft cry from the bartender as he pressed a soft kiss against his neck. His body ached, but it was filled with a sense of calamity. His mind spent from a combination of alcohol and a post-orgasm haze. 

“Thank you.” He whispered, and it was quiet, and felt awkward to say, but he still wanted to get it out there anyways. 

Sherman chuckled. 

“I said I care about you.”

“Didn’t realize it was this much.” 

They both laughed, and John felt so genuinely at peace he didn’t know what else to do. He didn’t want to move, or speak, or act in any way that would ruin the situation. 

He felt absolutely exhausted, but not enough so that he didn’t notice when Sherman picked up his limp body, taking him upstairs to where his bed was and laying them both down. 

“If you want,” He began. “You can come to my place. I got hot water and a warmer bed. It’s cold tonight.”

John could tell that he was still slightly nervous, but he merely smiled carelessly and moved to rest his head on his shoulder. 

“Sounds good to me. As long as Crops won’t be there.”

A playful punch struck into his side and he let out a fake yelp in response. 

“Course not.”

“Then I’d like that.”

His grin widened as he relaxed against Sherman’s chest. 

At least he had one less thing to worry about. This debt, at least, had been paid in full.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed thus far, and as stated in the beginning notes, the second part will be uploaded within a week. (Unless I die or get sick or some shit.)


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